Shadow's Son (16 page)

No, I won't help him.

Watching the awful creature slither toward her father's killer, Josey
rose from the chair. She tiptoed across the room. A single sound would
betray her. She reached the door without alerting her captor. The bolt was
a thick affair of iron. She grasped it with both hands and pulled. The slide
shot back with a loud click. Without looking back, she yanked open the
door and dashed out into the dark hallway beyond.

Her naked feet slapped on the floorboards. Fear lent speed to her steps.
She reached a narrow stairwell at the end of the hall and raced down the
steps, and gasped with relief as she spied a large doorway at the bottom.
With a grunt, she shoved open the door and ran out into the night.

Caim suppressed a sigh as he peered into the pantry This conversation was
going nowhere. The girl, Josephine, obviously didn't trust him enough to
give him straight answers. And why should she? In any case, he was beginning to doubt she knew anything pertinent. She was just a pampered
socialite without any cares beyond the lacy confines of her perfect world. Kit
was right again. Bringing the girl here had been a mistake.

He was pushing aside a sack of old flour to see what might be lurking
behind it when the weird sensation returned, stronger than before. Fear
was a thing he had learned to live with. It was part of his life and his
livelihood. Every time he faced a drawn weapon or crept into a strange
location for a job, it perched on his shoulder. He had learned to control it,
to harness its energy to do what had to be done. This feeling was different.
It refused to be repressed or ignored, but roiled in the pit of his stomach
like a bad meat pie.

"Caim!" Kit yelled. Her shout made him jerk upright, almost
banging his head on the roof of the cupboard.

He extricated himself and turned in time to see his captive dart out
the doorway into the hall. With a curse, he took two steps after her and
halted in his tracks as a bitter chill descended over him like an avalanche
of snow. Kit stared up at the ceiling. Caim dove to the ground and rolled.
A sharp pain pierced his right ankle, cutting through his boot. He kicked
and spun around.

A great serpent reared above him. Its inky scales gleamed in the
lamplight like diamonds of polished jet. The tail end disappeared into
the shadows of the ceiling. The wedge-shaped head hovered before him,
jaws wide enough to swallow a dog splayed open to display rows of glistening fangs.

Caim slid one of his knives free of its sheath. The serpent watched his
movements with cold, cerulean eyes. Its head swayed from side to side.

"Are you all right?" Kit's gaze remained on the black creature as it
floated nearer.

"What in the hell is that thing?"

"Something very dangerous," she whispered, and dropped her voice
even further when the serpent's head swung toward her. "I could distract
it while you run."

"It can see you?" He gathered his feet under him and bit his bottom
lip as a bolt of agony shot up his right leg. But it supported his weight.
"No, go after the girl."

"But-"

"Go! We can't afford to lose her."

With a last glance at the serpent, Kit vanished into the floor. Caim
crouched and backed away as more of the creature's body emerged from
the ceiling. All the while it moved closer, its great eyes stalking him.
Caim studied its movement. Like him, the serpent was a predator. It
would keep maneuvering closer until it pushed him into a corner. Then,
in a sudden rush, it would lunge.

He retreated step by step. His ankle was throbbing. He drew his
other
suete
and waved the knives back and forth to draw the serpent's
attention, but its gaze never left his face. Caim got the uncomfortable
feeling the creature wasn't a dumb brute, but possessed some semblance
of intelligence. He remembered the invisible beast that had torn apart the
Blue Vine. Was this it? Had this thing somehow come from him?

As he backpedaled onto the cushion of the woven-reed exercise mat,
a pulling sensation stirred behind his breastbone. A familiar tingle of
energy ran down his spine. He didn't need to seek out his fear; it ran
through him in terse, nauseating waves. The shadows wanted to come out
and play, but he pushed them away, back down into the dark recesses of
his mind from whence they came. He couldn't afford the risk. If he had
inadvertently summoned this creature, calling upon his powers again
might make matters worse. What if more appeared?

The room shortened as the inky serpent backed him toward a corner.
Caim ran through his options. The only window was shuttered and
locked, but the front door hung open. He could make a break for it. The
beast was large. He might be able to outrun it. As if sensing his thoughts,
the serpent looped around to block his path. Calm's shoulder brushed against a target bag suspended from the ceiling. He didn't have much
time left. A few more steps would bring him to the wall and nowhere else
to go. He eyed the scaly hide and wondered if cold steel could even harm
it. There was only one way to find out.

He lashed out with his left hand and set the target bag to swinging.
The serpent kept coming for him, lowering its head to stay out of the arc
of the swaying bag. Caim took a quick step to his right and punched
another bag. As it swung toward the creature, he crept sideways toward
the window. When the serpent reversed course to cut off his escape, he
attacked. He lunged with his right-hand knife extended, the point aimed
at the serpent's blunt snout. As the creature reared back, Caim threw himself forward onto his knees. He slid underneath its bulk and thrust
upward with his left-hand knife. Its point skittered along the monster's
belly, unable to pierce the tough scales.

Caim gasped as the pressure in his chest returned, twice as strong as
before. Unprepared for the sudden onslaught, he almost lost control.
Every muscle in his body tensed as he fought his powers. They clawed
against the walls of his mind like a pack of sewer rats trying to escape the
rising tide. Above him, the serpent reared.

Caim leapt away, evading its curved fangs by inches, but the creature
looped around and pulled him close. So quick, it flowed like a rushing
stream. Pain blossomed around his rib cage as the rippling, muscular
body wrapped around his middle. His legs strained under the enormous
weight. The knife fell from his left hand and he stabbed at the beast over
and over with the right, but it had no effect. Every breath was a struggle.
Black spots appeared before his eyes. His muscles slackened. And still, his
powers fought for release. Caim clamped down on them with every scrap
of resolve he could muster. This battle had become more than a struggle
for release. Either he would control his abilities, or they would control
him. His lips stretched back in a grimace as he strained.

Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the pressure vanished.

Its abrupt departure left a hole in Calm's chest, a void that bothered
him almost as much as the pressure had, but he had more urgent concerns.
The serpent had looped another layer of coils around his midsection. Its
crushing embrace threatened to squeeze him in two. He reached up with
his free hand. The giant wedge of the creature's head swayed above him, just out of reach. His fingers found purchase at the back of the neck.
Smiling through the pain, he struck.

The serpent shuddered as the knife pierced its eye. Caim tried to hang
on, but the writhing coils flung him about like an infant. A mighty convulsion threw him across the room. Battered, he lay prone on the floorboards. His lungs burned as fresh air hit them. The serpent thrashed in
the center of the floor, his knife still stuck in its eye socket until its violent throes hurtled the weapon free.

Caim crawled to his knees, but the creature had given up the fight.
Black ichor dripped from its ruined eyeball as it undulated into the far
corner of the room. Draped in shadows, it vanished like the remnants of
a dream, and the eerie sensation with it.

Caim climbed to his feet. He ached from neck to toe, but he had survived. He tore his gaze away from the corner and hobbled to the door,
down the hallway. The girl had a good lead on him, too damned good by
half and him with an injured foot, but how well did she know Low Town?
Not at all, most likely. He glanced through a grimy skylight as he passed
under it. Night had settled over the city. That worked to his advantage.
The darkness would make her flight more difficult. She might wander the
Gutters for hours before finding her way to a landmark she could recognize. If Kit was doing her job, he would find Josephine in plenty of time,
unless someone else found her first. An image of the girl, cornered in an
alley by a Low Town street gang, blasted through his mind as he reached
the stairwell. He leapt down the steps three at a time, heedless of the
burning pain in his ankle. Down the stairs and across the foyer. He shoved
open the heavy door.

Knives bared and ready for anything, he limped out into the night.

og swirled around Josey's ankles as she dashed across the slick cobblestones. The night's cold went right through her nightgown.
She had to find help. But who would aid her? She didn't even know where
she was. Shabby buildings leaned over the street like drunken titans.
Where were the streetlights? Impenetrable darkness swathed everything.

She went to the nearest door and found it locked tight. The windows
were dark. She pounded on the thick timbers, but didn't wait for an
answer. The killer would be right behind her. She dared not glance over
her shoulder. If she saw him, chasing behind her like the shadow of Death
incarnate, the fear would paralyze her.

A faint clink of metal echoed in the fog somewhere ahead. Josey
couldn't identify the sound in the dark, but she was past caring. Anything
was better than falling back into the clutches of her father's murderer.

She ran toward the noise. Her breath came in short gasps. A nimbus
of spectral light illuminated an intersection of three streets. At their
nexus stood a man holding a lantern, the point of a pike glittering above
his head.

"Who's that?" he called out.

Tears sprang to Josey's eyes as she made out the black coat of the night
watchman's uniform.

"Help me, please!" she cried.

The watchman raised a hand to his lips. A whistle's shrill call cut
through the gloom and fog. More watchmen appeared behind him. Josey
staggered toward them. Leather-clad arms caught her as she swooned.
Piercing eyes stabbed at her from behind steely faceplates.

"She ain't no Gutters wench," said one. "Think she's the one we was
told about?"

"What's your name, girl?" asked another, rolling his
r
's with a thick
western accent.

Josey drew in a deep breath. Her heart bounced hard against the inside
of her ribs. "I am Josephine ... of the House Frenig. Please, help me."

The westerner nodded. The stripes sewn onto his sleeve marked him
as a higher rank than the others. "We've been looking for you, m'lady.
Your disappearance has caused quite a stir."

Josey allowed herself to nestle in his arms. She wanted to cry. It was
over. She was safe. Then she remembered what the killer had done to the
men in her father's bedchamber.

"There's a man after me!" she said. "He's dangerous. He killed my
father."

"You're safe now, m'lady. Can you walk?"

"Yes, I think so."

She leaned on the watchman's strong arm and let him escort her down
the street. The lantern-holder led the way. She glanced over her shoulder,
but there were only fleeing shadows. She let out a cleansing breath.
He's
gone. He can't get me now. But I'll see him hanged, for Father's sake.

Caim. That was his name, the name of a dead man. She tried to convince herself it was over as the watchmen fell in around her, but the memories of her trials buzzed inside her head like a swarm of cicadas.